SHHHH.

*I’m whispering, cuz there’s something in the room with me that I can’t see, and I don’t want it to hear me. If I can’t see it, how do I know it’s there, you ask? Because Frankie the Leaner is staring at the door, then the ceiling, then across the room, and his eyes and cute little head are TRACKING something MOVING. Yes, it could be a bug. But then it could be an UNBUG. It could be the spirit of that fly I watched get eaten the other day by a GINORMOUS SPIDER, instead of helping it escape. I felt guilty, but hey. A spider’s gotta eat.

Great, now F the L is running around with JP. Imminent Casperian invasion averted, I guess. Whew.*

Frankie the Leaner got his name from his efforts at showing affection. He comes barreling up on the sofa and body slams me, and then leans his whole body against my shoulder. When I say “body slam,” imagine a punk rocker slam-dancing, or maybe a linebacker practicing his tackling, and you have the right idea. Sure, he’s only 8 or 9 pounds, but DON’T LET THAT FOOL YOU. Inertia, baybee. Then he looks to make sure he has my attention, tucks his chin, and offers his side and back to be petted, as if he’s kneeling before the throne of The Petting God waiting for orders. He’s a mess, that one.

He and JP have had a blast running around the living room since I moved the furniture around. I put a couple of these together for them, and they’re in love. They’ve played more in the last week than they have since Max and Leo died. It’s good to see. The toy of the moment seems to be a pecan, though. Free, from the backyard. Go figure.

*Oh, crap… he sees it again. It just floated RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY FACE (oops, sorry for the yelling), and I didn’t see it. That, my peeps, is one creepy mofo of a feeling.*